


everything i do

by parrishes_and_pitches



Category: Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe - Benjamin Alire Sáenz
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Black Mirror Episode: s03e04 San Junipero, Canon Divergent, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Non-Explicit Sexual Content, Soulmates, Tags Are Hard, a weird one yeah, because i'm soft and it's what they deserve, but like subtextual soulmates, but still a better experience, but this is ME TIME, but you don't have to be familiar with san junipero to read!!, in fact it might be an even better experience if you aren't, listen, maybe nobody will read this, mild panic attack, no beta readers we die like men, there be kissin and fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-04-08 04:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19099729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parrishes_and_pitches/pseuds/parrishes_and_pitches
Summary: the year is 1992. 21-year-old dante quintana, wayward wanderer, arrives in the desert town of san junipero and meets bar frequenter ari mendoza. the boys strike up a powerful bond that seems to be willed by the universe.what happens when two souls, destined to meet, never met when they were supposed to?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends!  
> this is my second multi-chapter fic, and i thought who better to write this au about than my favorite boys in the universe? honestly, seven chapters seems super short (compared to my last fic, which was twenty-nine), but the story is sure to be a good one! and if not good, then at least interesting.  
> i feel like the intersecting space in the venn diagram between "ari and dante fans" and "black mirror fans" is a space that is inhabited by me and me alone, but that's okay! i reiterate: YOU DO NOT NEED TO BE FAMILIAR WITH SAN JUNIPERO TO GET THE FIC. pls read it anyway ;-;  
> that being said, i feel like there will be very few readers here. i don't know how much of a demand there is for aridante fics, but dammit, i'm writing this for me.  
> enough of my rambling, let's fic!

the year is 1992. dante quintana is twenty-one years old, and he’s pretty happy with that. he likes being twenty-one. he finds that twenty-one is that age where people really do start treating you like an adult. he never felt like an adult at eighteen, or really at any point after eighteen, no matter what the law might have said. twenty-one, though. everything just sort of clicks together.

he gets the same sort of clicking feeling when he arrives in san junipero. a desert town with nothing around for miles as far as dante knows, but it’s nothing like the dry barrenness that surrounds it. it’s an unorganized sprawl of sun-bleached buildings, but this time of evening, with the sky a rich purple, it’s hard to believe that the sun was ever harsh enough to leech away the town’s vivacity.

san junipero doesn’t feel any less for its lack of colorful paint. it’s alive, young like him. the lights are bright, the alcohol seems to be bountiful, and the people are loud, but in a good way. he thinks it feels a little more like chicago than texas, which is what the desert reminds him of. or maybe it’s a happy medium between the two. either way, dante likes it.

it just feels _good_. he wanders down the sidewalk, and he feels like the life of the place is bleeding through the soles of his sneakers. he’d prefer to go barefoot, as he always goes, but there are a lot of people around, and the things the girls are wearing on their feet makes him fear for his toes. so, shoed it is. at least for now.

he’s a little nervous. a new town, new places, new faces. at least, he assumes there’ll be new faces. maybe he’ll recognize somebody, but he doesn’t know how likely this is. he had told himself that he wouldn’t let his (admittedly numerous) concerns bother him, but it’s a gnawing feeling at the back of his mind.

he makes the effort to let it go. nothing will ruin this for him.

a car is parked along the sidewalk. there’s nobody in it, and it looks almost melancholic, dante thinks, sitting alone in this street full of people. if it were a painting, an art critic might call it lonely, desolate.

the windows are rolled down, and a song that dante recognizes but can’t name is blasting from the stereo. he hums along, off-key, to block out his doubts as he passes.

_don’t tell me it’s not worth tryin’ for…_

dante thinks a rock ballad like this one doesn’t exactly fit in among tipsy populace and the enthusiastic neon lights that almost make him regret wearing his glasses. but he’s willing to forgive it, because he likes the song. it’s kind of a classic, and dante is always open to a good classic.

he also forgives it because it reminds him a little of himself.

dante wonders where the owner of the car is. maybe san junipero is just _one of those towns_ , but dante wouldn’t leave his car unattended with the window down and the engine running, no matter where he was. not that he would ever have a car to begin with.

the street is already strident, but as dante wanders, wondering where to go, he finds a potential answer in a conversation that still somehow manages to stand out for being _too_ loud. and judging by the increasing volume, it’s drawing nearer to him. it’s more of an argument than a conversation, really, and an argument stands out like a sore thumb in san junipero.

dante turns his head to look, ever the curious soul, and he sees three people walking along the opposite side of the street. it’s two girls, one with a mane of curls and a loud voice, the other with dark eyes and a quiet gait, both in shimmering clothes, and both in pursuit of a boy.

the first thing that strikes dante about him is that he is _beautiful_. he’s about dante’s age, and his skin is a lovely brown, though dante can’t determine the exact shade, because the lights of the street make it difficult to tell. dante loves his hair, a short, dark mess that’s a hybrid of waves and curls. it doesn’t look like the guy takes much care of it, but _damn_ if dante doesn’t want to touch it. it falls in his eyes, which have such a lovely shape that they make dante wish he was close enough to discern their color. the leather jacket he’s wearing is appropriate for the cool night, and it has the appearance of one that’s been worn every day for several years.

as they begin to cross the street, worryingly unconcerned about any potentially oncoming traffic, the girls are both talking at him, (the curly-haired one more than the dark-eyed one,) and he doesn’t seem to like a word they’re saying. he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

the boy passes beneath the light of a white neon sign, and the high points of his face seem to glow. dante wishes he could paint him just then. he has a vision of silver leaf, just a little bit. if only he could see his eyes more clearly.

“come _on,_ ” says the curly-haired girl. she sounds as irritated as the boy looks. “we don’t want to go by ourselves. we’ve never been!”

“i am walking away now, gina,” says the boy. the back of dante’s neck prickles at the sound of his voice, like his nerve endings are standing at attention. “get the hint.”

“i refuse to get the hint.” the girl, gina, has her arms crossed, and dante imagines that she would be tapping her foot if she weren’t pursuing the boy at such a pace. “if you get to be a stubborn ass, then so do i. equal rights, and all that.”

“don’t you want to make the most of your time?” says the other girl. her voice is as quiet as the way she holds herself, but they’ve drawn near enough to dante that he can hear what she’s saying.

the noise the boy makes in response is the ghost of a laugh and he turns, stopping in his tracks. the girls nearly run headlong into him. the trio is standing in the middle of the lane now, which makes dante antsy. “you think i want to _make the most of my time_ in a place like that?”

“don’t be hypocritical, you’ve been there before,” gina says. “jesse said that’s where he met you.”

the boy wrinkles his nose. “jesse? god, gina, that was weeks ago.”

“he still looks for you, you know,” the other girl says.

he shrugs. “well, i’m not interested in being found by that guy. and i’m even less interested in chaperoning your trip to that shithole.”

“we don’t need you to _chaperone_ us,” gina huffs.

“good. that means you can leave me alone.” the boy, apparently done with this conversation, turns on his heel and walks away. the girls, neither having expected such an abrupt ending, dante thinks, stand frozen in his wake for a moment before continuing their pursuit. the three of them disappear into a bar a block away from where dante stands.

dante considers his options. he could continue to wander. that would be nothing new. but he feels a sort of pull from that bar on the corner that seems to be saying _come and see what might happen._ maybe it’s the boy, or maybe it’s simply the gravity of discovery, the pull of newness. either way, dante has never been one to turn away from something new.

dante gives in and enters the bar.

when dante thinks of a bar, he thinks of a bar like in a movie. warm, cozy, smelling like beer and choices to be made. maybe a dartboard on the wall and a pool table under a flickering lamp. full of strangers with stories to tell. and while this bar does have plenty of strangers, that’s the only thing about it that dante had pictured.

looking around, dante decides that it’s closer to his vision of a club. it’s somehow well-lit and dark at the same time. there’s a dance floor with glowing floor panels, but its light is obstructed by the bodies writhing on it. there’s a bar on the far side of the room, but it seems terribly understaffed with only one bartender and perhaps twenty patrons. music is blasting overhead, but the flurry of conversation around dante is so thick that he can’t really tell what it sounds like apart from the bass pounding in his chest.

dante is nearly overwhelmed as soon as he enters. he doesn’t think he’s ever been in a place like this. if he had, he thinks he would have remembered. he can’t decide whether he likes it or not.

as he moves through the crowds, with no specific goal in mind but keeping an eye out for the boy, dante feels like nobody. or, rather he feels like a smaller part of a larger somebody. there are so many people in here, dante begins to feel like they’re all roaches in a nest. loud, mostly drunk roaches.

dante hadn’t been anticipating a crowd like this. he doesn’t have a problem with large crowds, not particularly, but he wasn’t ready to be jostled around and elbowed and stepped on and _absorbed_. regardless of what he was expecting or what he does and doesn’t have a problem with, he has the urge to _get out get out get out._

he doesn’t want to leave the bar, though. he’s only been here for a minute, and he’d like to discover this place’s secrets. a minute to gather himself is what he needs, then he can get back to it.

along the wall to his right, separate from the mass, dante discerns a row of tables. there are dim purple lights above them, and many of them seem to be already occupied, groups or couples partially concealed by shadow. the shadows appear to be very forgiving, as dante can barely tell what most of them are doing beyond a vague impression. based on those vague impressions, he decides he’s glad for the shadows.

dante seizes the first empty table he sees with a rush of gratitude. he rests an elbow on the table, regrets it, (it’s sticky,) and settles on folding his hands in his lap. he people-watches, looking to see if he’d recognize anybody, particularly that guy from the street. he thinks if he sees him again, he might talk to him, ask after his name.

he doesn’t get to devise any further plans, because suddenly there’s the boy, breaking through the crowd. he scans the tables, much like dante did only a few minutes before, and his eyes light on dante. before he can think to react in any way, the other boy walks over and slides into the booth next to dante, propping his forearm on his shoulder.

he looks at dante, and their faces are maybe five inches apart. dante’s lungs seem a lot smaller than they used to be.

“just play along,” the boy says urgently.

“what?” dante manages.

“play along.” the boy turns his face away, because the girls who had been pursuing him earlier have now materialized before their table. gina, the taller of the two, has her arms crossed again and is tapping her foot just as dante had imagined. “oh my god,” the boy says, letting his head fall onto the back of the booth with a dull thud, “what?”

“you think you can hide from us forever?” gina demands.

“no, but i was hoping to spend some time with my friend, here.” he punctuates the last word with a little tug on dante’s ear. the gesture is weirdly intimate, but dante supposes that’s just how this guy is with friends.

“your friend,” gina repeats.

“yeah.”

“there’s only an hour till midnight,” says the other girl. she’s standing a step behind gina, and dante can barely hear her. “if we don’t go now, we won’t be able to until next week.”

“you guys can go without me, susie. you’re grownups. i have total faith in you. besides--” the boy nudges dante and lowers his voice conspiratorially, making the girls and dante all lean in-- “he’s sick. like, six-months-to-live sick.”

a moment passes in strange silence. just a moment, then dante blurts, “five, actually.”

all three strangers turn their gazes to him. the boy raises his eyebrows at dante. perhaps he was expecting him to protest. dante looks him in the eyes-- he still can’t tell what color they are-- and gives a little cough into his fist.

he didn’t think it was at all convincing, but the boy turns to gina and susie with a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “see?”

gina narrows her eyes at the boy, and for a second dante expects her to call his bluff. instead, she throws up her hands in resignation. “fine.” she jabs a finger in his face. “but don’t think we won’t try again next week, mister.”

“oh, gina, i wouldn’t expect anything else from you.”

gina turns and marches off into the crowd. susie goes to follow her but seems to give it a second thought. she returns to the table, and dante expects her to address the other boy, but instead she places her hand on dante’s shoulder and gives him a pretty smile. “i’m sorry.” dante can’t tell if she’s joking or not, but she disappears after gina before he can really question it.

the boy heaves a relieved sigh and slides down a couple inches in his seat. “god, they’re like bloodhounds.” he looks at dante and smiles. “thanks for the rescue,” he says.

“no problem,” dante replies. he’s a little caught up in this boy’s smile. “you’re a good liar.”

he straightens up and orients himself so that his body is twisted to face dante. “you’re not so bad yourself.”

dante tilts his head at this. he doesn’t think so, but he wants to keep him talking. “should that be taken as a compliment?”

“i don’t really know. suit yourself, i guess.” the boy rubs his hand over the back of his head, and dante notices a few curls sticking out in its wake. “sorry for killing you, by the way.”

“huh?”

“the six-months-to-live thing. wait, no, five.” he shoots dante a grin and inclines his head briefly. “i’m ari.”

ari. “nice to meet you, ari,” he says, because it is, “i’m dante.”

ari’s mouth twitches. “dante? like, dante’s inferno dante?”

dante scratches behind his ear. “yeah, my dad was an english professor. so, dante.” he means to say more, but ari has started to laugh. “kind of a stupid name, huh?”

“no, no, sorry. it’s just—” ari takes a moment to compose himself— “ari is short for aristotle.”

dante can’t help the smile that’s beginning to spread on his face. “ _aristotle_?”

“hey, at least you have a decent excuse. i’m named for my grandfatherz.”

they’re both laughing now, and they can’t seem to stop, and dante doesn’t really want to stop. he wants to keep listening to ari ( _aristotle_ ) laugh, but by now they’ve somehow managed to compose themselves, and dante is back to wanting to hear him talk. “aristotle and dante,” he muses.

“like two peas in a pod.” ari’s still smiling, and yeah, dante _really_ likes that smile.

“like that gina and susie,” dante says, raising an eyebrow in a way that is glaringly unsubtle, but dante has never really been one to do anything any other way.

“ _ay,_ those two,” ari groans, “they’re great girls, i swear, but that gina. she gets on my nerves.” he looks at dante, eyebrow raised lazily. “they were trying to get me to take them to the quagmire.”

he says it like he expects some grand reaction, but dante just frowns. “i don’t know what that is.”

ari seems surprised by this. “really? you don’t know what the quagmire is?”

dante shakes his head. “nope.”

he’s looking at dante. he had never stopped, but his gaze is different now. there’s a bit of an amused shine in his eyes under the dim purple neon. “can i get you a drink?” he asks.

dante’s mind goes a bit blank at the question. he’s never had a boy offer to get him a drink before. he’s never had _anybody_ offer to get him a drink before. he isn’t exactly sure how to respond. “i— sure?”

ari grins. “are you asking permission?”

“oh, so you’re a smartass.”

“maybe a little.” before he knows it, ari is standing, and he has a grip on dante’s bicep and is pulling him up with him. “c’mon.”

he lets go of dante and starts making his way through the crowd, but dante doesn’t want to lose him, so now he’s the one gripping ari’s bicep and _dang_ , the guy must work out.

ari doesn’t seem intimidated by the crowd at all. he’s maybe a head shorter than dante, but he’s shouldering his way to the bar like it doesn’t bother him at all. it makes dante feel a little more reassured.

the boys reach the bar, and ari seizes a free pair of stools with startling rapidity. he looks at dante, seems to note the look on his face, and grins. “seats go fast. you gotta grab them, otherwise you sit down and somebody’s already there, and accidental lap-sitting isn’t a good time for anybody.”

“speaking from experience?” dante asks. ari shrugs noncommittally and waves down the only bartender as the two take their seats next to each other. dante’s feet touch the floor when he sits in his stool, and ari’s toes just barely graze it. it makes him look younger, and dante wonders what he might have looked like, years ago. he wonders how he’s changed.

 “two rum and cokes,” ari tells the bartender.

“uh, just coke, please,” dante interjects.

“staying sober?”

“i’d rather have a clear head, i think.”

ari props his elbow on the bar and his jaw in his hand, and he has his stool rotated so he can look at dante. and he is _looking._ his eyes rove up and down appraisingly, then make another lap around.

“i feel like a specimen,” dante says.

ari laughs. “sorry. i don’t mean to examine you. i’m just… _regarding_ you.”

“regarding me?”

“yeah. your clothes, specifically.”

dante looks down at himself. he doesn’t think his outfit is anything special, just a sweater and jeans. now that he thinks about it, he does kind of look like what comes to mind when one pictures _gay nerd_. “what about my clothes?”

“have you _seen_ the way people dress around here?” dante casts a glance around. lots of bright colors, sequins, and baggy pants. “you kind of stand out,” ari says, “not that that’s a bad thing.”

“well, as long as it’s not a bad thing, i’m okay with that.”

he notices that ari is reaching out to dante’s face, and his fingers light on the right hinge of dante’s glasses before he can react. all his nerve endings seem to gravitate toward that point where ari’s fingers are just a few centimeters away from his skin. dante swallows. ari tugs on the glasses, just enough to send them slightly askew. “do you need these?”

“no, not really.” dante straightens them. it’s more a nervous tic than anything functional. “i used to. they’re more of a comfort thing now.”

ari smiles and drops his hand back onto the bar. “i like them. they make you seem more like a real person.”

dante thinks that’s an interesting thing to say. he wants to ask ari about it, find out more about what he thinks, but the bartender is back with their drinks.

dante takes a sip and immediately recoils at the bite of alcohol on his tongue.

ari laughs. “strong cola, huh?”

“i don’t think the bartender heard me.” dante looks down into his glass.

“i can call him over again,” ari offers.

“no, it’s okay. poor guy has enough to do.” he doesn’t exactly _like_ the drink, but he feels a bit more secure with something in his hands. it’s an anchoring feeling. so he doesn’t sip from it again, only holds it, grounding himself in the cold glass and the condensation gathering around his fingers.

“i don’t think i’ve seen you around here before,” ari says.

“yeah, you wouldn’t have. this is my first time.” dante cringes inwardly and awkwardly tacks on: “around here.”

ari’s smiling with his lips pressed together, and he has that shine in his eyes again. the way he’s looking at dante makes him a little dizzy. though he supposes that could be attributed to the alcohol. he’s not exactly sure what his tolerance level is, or how quickly it would hit him.

“first time, huh?” ari takes a sip of his rum and coke, but his eyes don’t leave dante’s face. dante likes how when ari’s talking to him, he doesn’t look away.

dante laughs a bit and pinches the bridge of his nose. the gesture reminds him of his mom, so strongly that he can almost hear her in the back of his mind. “yeah.”

“that’s strange. i feel like i already know you.”

“do you use that line on all of the boys, ari?” the question is teasing, but dante’s also testing the waters, dipping in his toe. being subtle isn’t exactly in his ballpark, but he’s hoping it might work in his favor this time. he thinks that if he were to ask _hey by the way do you like boys_ out of the blue, the conversation could take a turn that would be awkward at best and disastrous at worst.

ari either doesn’t realize what dante’s doing or he doesn’t care. “swear i don’t. i usually hit them with a classic _come here often_?”

they’re both laughing again. dante’s nearly forgotten about all the noise around them, but it comes crashing back in when ari suddenly perks up as a new song starts playing. dante can’t really tell what it is, but ari’s grinning like he’s just heard a little bit of home. “oh, man, i used to love this song.”

dante tries harder to listen, but even without the noise of the bar’s occupants, dante doesn’t think he would recognize the song. what he can make out of it is unfamiliar. “what is it?”

again with that amused look. it’s like ari’s marveling at just how out-of-touch dante is. “are you kidding? it’s _la bamba_ ,” ari says, and laughter is bubbling in his voice like a fresh spring. he sounds like he’s a little in love with the song, like it’s an old friend he just saw again after years apart. ari drums his hands on the bar and looks at dante with a grin. “you want to dance or something?”

the question makes dante snort. “you’d never want to be seen with me again if i tried.”

ari nods sympathetically, a single duck of his head that causes a couple curls to fall into his eyes. “that’s fair. i’m not much better.” he pushes his hair out of his eyes haphazardly. dante notices a sheen of sweat on his forehead, which is inexplicably attractive. “it’s getting pretty hot in here, actually.”

having (dubiously) confirmed that ari is into guys, there’s a moment where dante strongly considers coming back with something flirtatious, just to see what might come of it. but everything that he can think of makes him want to fold in upon himself in mortification, so instead he says, “you _are_ wearing a leather jacket.”

ari elbows him. “who’s the smartass now?”

dante laughs. “how about we get out of here?” he thinks that could be taken the wrong way, so he hurries to add, “i’d like to see more of san junipero.”

“you’re asking the right guy. i’ll give you the grand tour. pamphlets and everything,” ari says. he downs the rest of his drink in a single, fluid gulp and slips off his stool.

dante sets down his nearly completely untouched drink and stands. “already got the pamphlets, but i’ll take the grand tour.”

ari’s laughing again. he seems to find everything dante says funny. dante’s never met someone like that, someone who took so easily to his sense of humor. he usually felt like the people he met always took a decent duration of time to get used to him. which is understandable, but ari isn’t like that. he’s easy, he’s accommodating.

not only does he seem to find dante completely normal, but he seems to genuinely _like_ him. it isn’t as if this has ever been an exceptionally rare thing for dante, but he always finds it surprising. and it’s infinitely more surprising with somebody like ari, somebody so unafraid.

he wonders if ari would like him that much if he really knew him.

he doesn’t have much time to wonder about this, because ari’s taking his arm again and together they cut through the crowd and back out into the cool night air.

the night is darker than it was when dante entered the bar. the sky has gone from a rich purple to a deep blue that is almost black. streetlamps and neon lights wash the streets in an array of colors, and the crowd has thinned significantly. the streets are extraordinarily clean for the amount of people there were earlier, dante thinks.

“what time is it?” he asks ari, because he’s just now realizing he doesn’t have any means to tell.

ari glances at his watch. “about half an hour to midnight,” he says.

dante smiles. “great. we can just walk, then.” after looking around, dante decides that it’s safer than it was before, and so he leans down to untie his shoes.

“what are you doing?”

“taking off my shoes,” dante says. he straightens up after a moment, sneakers dangling from his fingers with the socks balled up in the toes. “duh.”

“you must really be a lightweight, huh?”

“i’m not _drunk,_ ” dante protests. “it’s kind of my thing.”

ari’s _regarding_ him again, and dante wants to know what he’s thinking. he finds that this has been a common desire throughout their interactions thus far. finally, ari says, “you don’t have to do that, you know.” he nods to the shoes.

dante gets what he means. “i know,” he says, “i like it, though. it makes me feel more real, like you said.”

ari’s head tilts to one side, and his smile tugs in the same direction. “alright, then,” he says.

“lead the way, tour guide.”

and so ari and dante head off down the street together, and ari shows dante around town.

it seems that ari has an intimate understanding of san junipero. it’s a place with a lot to understand, and he walks through it it with purpose, carries himself within it like he knows that neither it nor anybody in it would try to hurt him. it’s a marvelous thing to witness.

ari can tell dante a story about nearly every corner, every building, every little landmark. here was where he’d met gina and susie. across the street there was the first place he ever went when he first arrived in town. around this corner was wear he saw two girls get in a very serious fight over the best nirvana song.

ari seems to have a lot of stories, and dante wants to know each and every one of them. he wants to ask a million questions, he wants to let him talk uninterrupted, he wants to tell stories of his own. he _wants._

one of ari’s stories has just reached its conclusion when a drop of water splashes against the lens of dante’s glasses. he looks up as more begin to fall from the dark clouds hanging above their heads. “i didn’t know it rained here,” he says.

ari glances up as well. “every now and then.” he looks at dante. “i won’t go for cover if you don’t.”

“i won’t.”

ari seems to like dante’s answer. “cool.” they’re walking by a park, and there’s a little brick ledge that separates the sidewalk they’re walking on from the grass. ari hops up on the ledge and walks along it like a balance beam. dante doesn’t remember seeing ari take off his shoes, but he’s barefoot now, walking along on the slowly dampening brick like it’s nothing.

this makes dante smile. “you seem to know your way around pretty well,” he comments.

“guess so,” ari says. “i’ve been exploring a lot. these outings are kind of a once-a-week thing for me, so i try to make the most of my time.”

dante looks up at ari. he’s passing beneath a streetlamp, and the warm yellow light sets a golden halo in his hair. “me too,” dante says. “the once-a-week thing, i mean. i haven’t had enough time to make the most of it.”

“i think it’s the same for a lot of people around here,” ari says, and dante isn’t sure which statement he’s referring to.

dante means to ask, but the rain starts coming down harder. dante can feel it soaking through his sweater with zeal. ari’s hair is starting to become plastered to his skin. “maybe we should get out of the rain now?” dante suggests. he has to raise his voice a little, since the rain is coming down hard enough on the pavement to make an audible sound.

“that’s a good idea.” ari hops down from the ledge and leads dante along. they end up running like they can somehow dodge the downpour, and dante’s laughing as they do because, if he’s honest, it’s an _exhilarating_ experience, running through the rain with the wet pavement beneath his bare feet, the dark expanse of sky above him, and the rain in his hair, on his skin, soaking him down to the soul.

it’s exhilarating running through the rain with ari.

they’ve reached the edge of town, and it’s an abrupt cutoff. san junipero ends with a couple buildings that dante can’t tell the purpose of from just a glance, and the paved road to their left suddenly turns into a muddy path that leads off into the desert that expands toward the cloudy horizon and beyond.

ari has a gentle grasp on dante’s sweater sleeve, which is now quite soaked, and tugs. he’s leading him to a fire escape on the side of the building to their right. they take shelter beneath it, shielded by the rain above them but not the rain that happens to blow in from any other direction. neither mind this, though, and so they lean back against the wall with chipped paint and slide down it to sit beside each other, gazing out into the infinite desert.

dante is still laughing a little, and he takes off his glasses to wipe them on the hem of his sweater. but the sweater is just as soaked as the glasses, so he only succeeds in smearing the water around a little. “you know what?”

“what?” ari’s tone is indulgent.

“i’ve never been to a bar before.”

“no?”

dante shakes his head.

“there’s a lot you haven’t done,” ari notes.

“yeah.” dante sighs, and it turns into a breathless laugh halfway through. he pushes his glasses back onto his nose. “god, if my family could see me now. their minds would be _blown._ ”

“why? would they be worried about you getting a cold or something?”

“no. i mean, yeah,” dante concedes, “but i mean, like, they would lose their _shit._ not in a bad way. not like they’d go ballistic or anything. i just mean… they always had this image of me. like i’m such a good boy to them, and i do anything contrary to that, suddenly i’m just.” dante waves his hand.

“inscrutable,” ari finishes.

dante looks at him. ari, in a finely cut profile, gazes out at the desert before them with a faraway expression. “exactly,” dante says. it’s like ari plucked the word right out of his head, and suddenly he’s a little inscrutable himself.

“i get that,” ari says. “it was the same way with my family. i think every family has this perfect image of their sons.” he shrugs, traces his finger on the pavement. it leaves a little dark streak where wet skin drags along dry concrete. “that image usually isn’t very accurate though.”

“are you a bad boy, ari?”

dante says it jokingly, but ari sounds serious when he replies, “i think so.”

silence follows. it’s a heavy one, but it’s not uncomfortable, and dante lets ari sit with his thoughts for a bit. he still wants to know about them, but he’s willing to yield him some space for a little while.

after a minute, dante says, “there are so many things i would do if i could.” his voice is as soft as the patter of rain on the pavement. he can barely hear himself.

“what’s stopping you?” ari asks.

dante just shrugs. the things stopping him aren’t things he wants to think about. not now, not here.

ari seems to consider this. “there are a lot of things to do in san junipero,” ari finally says. his voice is a little heavier than it was before, and it makes dante look at him again. ari is gazing at him, unwavering, certain, confident. “there’s not long till midnight, and nothing’s off limits here. why bother wasting time?”

ari leans in, slowly but invariably closer.

dante is stricken by several details at once, and all of them feel like a blow. the drop of water slowly tracking its way down ari’s temple. the delicate, defined shape of his lips, which are slightly parted in anticipation. the fact that they’re close enough now that dante can feel the warmth of ari’s breath.

he can finally make out the color of ari’s eyes. they’re brown. a deep, rich brown, the same tone as his skin but darker. they’re the wood of your abuela’s worn dining room floor. they’re the coffee early in the morning, made by a lover, for a lover. they’re the color dante gets when he mixes cadmium red and carbon black acrylic paint.

they’re not the ocean, but dante is drowning in them all the same.

“i have a fiancée,” dante blurts. the words are a life preserver he doesn’t want. he’s not sure why he threw it to himself, but he now that he’s got his hands on it, he can’t let go. no matter how much he might want to let go of the things holding him back, he can’t. “emma. she’s…”

“not here, is she?” ari raises an eyebrow slightly.

dante shakes his head slowly. “no, but… she’s a great girl, really. but we’re not— it isn’t like-- i’ve never.” he gestures helplessly at ari, having difficulty getting words out suddenly. the unwelcome words have left a frustratingly empty well in their place, which is an unsettling feeling. dante usually has plenty of words, even if they aren’t always the right ones.

ari looks at him closely with those eyes. they’re almost more than dante can bear. ari doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t pull away, either. he doesn’t do anything. he’s giving dante the chance to decide, he realizes.

“oh, you’re nice,” dante whispers. the realization is a weight dragging his heart down, and god, he _wants to._ he feels compelled to, like it’s the natural way for his lips to move, toward ari’s.

but he can’t tell if this feeling in his heart, his gut, his entire body, is fear or new possibilities or something else entirely. the uncertainty itself scares him.

maybe in another life.

“i should probably go,” dante says gently. he pulls back from ari, scooting away. his hands shake, even though he hasn’t touched him. his lips tingle, even though nothing happened.

ari sits back, lets his back rest against the wall again. “okay,” he says. his voice is back to the way it was before.

“i’m sorry,” dante says as he gets to his feet. “i just—”

“seriously, it’s okay.” ari’s standing too, and he’s smiling again. “don’t worry about it, dante.”

“okay.” he exhales, pinches the hem of his sweater. he sticks out his hand and regrets it almost immediately because holy _jesus_ , it’s awkward, but he commits to it. “it was really nice meeting you, ari.”

ari’s giving that close-lipped smile again as he shakes dante’s hand. dante realizes with a jolt that this is the first time they’ve touched without a barrier of cloth. ari’s palm is warm and soft against dante’s. they fit together nicely, and he almost mourns the fact.

ari still seems amused, despite dante’s floundering. perhaps _because_ of dante’s floundering. “you too.”

“i had fun,” dante says, and he hopes he sounds genuine enough, because he really does mean it.

ari squeezes his hand before letting go. dante can still feel the ghost of ari’s hand in his. he felt as if that brief moment of skin-to-skin contact was the cusp of something bigger. something he might not ever discover. “see you around,” ari says.

dante wants to keep talking to him, desperately, but he makes himself turn away and walk back into the rain before he jumps into something without thinking. his bare feet are carrying him back down the sidewalk the way they came, but he’s not sure where they’re taking him. he’s not sure they have a destination. he looks around, and he remembers every corner, every building, every little landmark that ari had pointed out. the color of his eyes is still fresh in dante’s mind.

he turns his face up into the rain and closes his eyes, lets it wash over him.

_see you around._

the clock strikes midnight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “it’s beautiful, huh?” ari is standing next to him, and he’s looking up at the sky too.   
> “gorgeous,” dante agrees. “no light pollution.”   
> “light pollution?”
> 
> a week has passed, and dante returns to san junipero with one goal in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi friends! back at it again with chapter 2! i hope you guys enjoy, and i'll ask you to bear with me in the next chapter, especially if you aren't familiar with san junipero. barring spoilers, shit's about to get w e i r d.  
> also, side note, i'm writing ari as more confident than he is in the book because a) he's older now it makes sense, b) IT'S WHAT HE DESERVEs  
> and, last thing i promise: ARI WITH CURLY HAIR RIGHTS  
> it;s late and i'm tired. okay byeeeee enjoy

one week passes, and dante is back in san junipero.

when he arrives, that feeling is back, friendly and newly familiar. the feeling of everything clicking, the sensation that everything falls into place. nothing has changed since last week, and dante is in love with it. how miraculous it is, for him to have found a place so infallible, a place which fills him with such an unwavering sensation of  _ being alive _ . he hasn’t felt such a feeling with such intensity for a long time, and feeling it again is like reuniting with somebody he used to love.

san junipero is a town no longer unfamiliar to him, but he still feels as though there is so much more he has yet to discover. san junipero, he thinks, seems to have more secrets than he will ever be able to discover, even with all the time in the world.

there are three hours until midnight, which he knows thanks to the watch he remembered to wear this week. it isn’t enough time to even begin discovering those secrets, but for now, it’ll have to do.

he contemplates exploring what he didn’t get the chance to see last week, getting a head start on those secrets. he imagines spending the night walking the streets of san junipero until he knows every nook, every cranny, every tucked-away corner that hides away from the average eye. it isn’t enough for him to simply be familiar with this town. a place as special as this one deserves to have at least one person that knows it in its entirety.

but as dante wanders, he finds himself on a familiar street, with the familiar glow of neon lights and the crowded sidewalks. there’s the car, parked on the same curb and playing the same song he’d heard last week.

_ you can’t tell me it’s not worth dyin’ for… _

and there, on the corner a block away, is that same bar. the bar where he met ari.

ari.

the memory of ari hits dante like a bullet strikes a pane of glass, sudden and shattering. it’s almost as if he can hear ari’s voice there, crossing the street, telling gina and susie he didn’t want to waste his time. it’s almost as if he can see ari’s face, unbearably close to his own, his warm breath a wistful ghost on dante’s lips. it’s almost as if those beautiful brown eyes are before him again, swallowing him whole.

_ ari. _

it’s hard to forget about a thing when it’s all your mind circles back to, and dante’s can’t seem to let that boy go. without his bidding it to do so, it has conjured image after image of what might have happened, if only dante hadn’t held himself back.

he considers holding back now, as he stares across the street. people are pushing around him on the sidewalk, but dante doesn’t care about them. he can’t bring himself to care, because there is only him, the bar before him, and tempting possibility.

last week was a coincidence. dante only  _ happened _ to meet a boy that he now can’t get out of his head. there is no guarantee that if he goes inside now, with the goal of ari in mind, he’ll find him again.

_ but. _

if dante walks away now, a coincidence is all it’ll ever be.

dante enters the bar.

this time, he’s prepared for the flurry of people. which is good, because the crowd seems rowdier than last week. dante plunges into it now with much less hesitation, though he still doesn’t especially enjoy being jostled around.

he scans the throng of faces through the lenses of his non-functional glasses. he had considered not wearing them tonight, but then he remembered what ari had said about them, how they made him more real, and he found that he couldn’t go without them. and now that he’s here, dante is hoping that they may be helpful in making all of this less of a coincidence. maybe if ari spots him first, he’ll see the glasses and remember.

it turns out that he doesn’t have reason to worry about it, because dante beats ari to the punch. he catches a brief glimpse of him through the crowd, but that’s enough. he recognizes the dark mess of curls, the lovely slope of a cheekbone, the worn leather jacket. he recognizes the table ari is sitting at. it’s the same table they sat at together a week previous.

the thought that enters dante’s mind is at once ridiculous and thrilling:  _ he’s waiting for me.  _

dante had imagined meeting ari again many times over the past week. it was never a thing he willingly went back to. the images snuck past his defenses when he least expected it. here, a wide and unabashed smile. there, ari’s eyes shining with the gentle amusement reserved for dante. in his ears, ari’s voice, warm with familiarity and confidence as he says it’s good to see dante again. 

a sudden longing seizes dante, a longing to make those images real, and it’s enough to propel him forward, through the crowd and in ari’s direction. ari is a magnet with an opposite charge to dante, and the closer dante gets, the stronger ari’s pull becomes, and the faster dante hurtles. he breaks apart from the crowd, and there’s a smile spreading on his face that he can’t help because  _ ari is waiting for me. _

then dante realizes that ari is with someone.

a tall, dark, handsome someone standing beside the table and leaning over it. his face hovers just inches above ari’s. they’re talking, their voices lowered below the pounding of the bass overhead. ari’s eyelids are about as low, with dark lashes fanning over those beautiful brown eyes that aren’t looking at dante.

dante’s feet feel glued to the spot. his smile has taken its leave, and all he can do is stare. he’s defying the laws of physics.

it’s a flirtatious exchange. that much is  _ abundantly _ clear. dante feels a little like he’s been punched right between the eyes. which, he tries to tell himself, is unjustified. ari is allowed to talk to other boys. it isn’t like anything happened between them. nothing concrete, at least. nothing beyond the inexplicable feeling that it was just  _ right _ .

dante can tell himself how unreasonable this feeling is as much as he’d like, and he tries, but his heart doesn’t seem much inclined to reason. 

he stands there for what could have been ages, just watching the two talk, until ari’s eyes drift away from the other boy’s face and come to find dante. his bearing, previously hazed with flush desire, shutters. his eyes open fully and his lips part in surprise. he seems to come alive with the change. dante had envisioned such a sentiment in the past week, but not like this. not with the look on ari’s face that says he was never expecting to see dante again. 

the change in ari’s countenance passes in a flash, and his eyes slide back to the man leaning over him. for a moment, dante thinks that he might excuse himself and come over to him, and the strange weight at the bottom of his stomach seems to lessen. 

but then ari’s speaking to the other boy, and though dante can’t hear him from this distance, he recognizes the shapes his lips are making. they’d been directed at him just a week ago.  _ can i get you a drink? _

all dante can do is watch as ari stands and approaches the bar with this stranger. the weight in his stomach seems to double, and it’s heavy enough that he finds himself sitting at that table in ari’s absence. it seems a cruel twist of the universe that the crowd has cleared enough to provide dante with a clear view of ari as he sits at the bar with the other boy.

through this small window, he observes. sometimes it feels as though observing is his only option, and this is one of those times. it’s a result of the constant and confusing back and forth in his head, wanting at once to not let this hurt him because he has no reason for it to, and it hurting anyway.

ari doesn’t seem quite able help himself either. he appears to be only half-listening to what the guy beside him is saying, every so often glancing over his shoulder at dante. whenever he does, he has a complex expression on his face, one that dante has trouble deciphering. this is due in part to ari’s general disposition, and in part to the way his glances send dante’s thoughts scattering in disparate directions. all he can focus on is how when ari averts his gaze, it’s forced. though maybe that’s just wishful thinking on dante’s part. 

this goes on for an inordinate amount of time, every moment of which could have been better spent doing anything else, but it’s time that dante isn’t willing or able to give up. finally,  _ finally, _ ari turns to the other guy and excuses himself. the next moment, he’s standing and crossing the room, navigating through the throng of people like he knows exactly which way will get him out the fastest.

dante’s on his feet and following before he’s registered that he’s started moving at all. the magnetic pull is back and stronger than before, sending dante unwaveringly after ari. he isn’t as knowledgeable about crowd-navigating as ari is, but the pull between them demands that he figure it out, and he does so without question.

ari’s heading for some part of the bar that dante hasn’t explored yet. it’s closer to the back, near the bathrooms, and it’s a lot quieter than the rest of the building. ari looks like he’s headed for the back exit, but dante reaches him and gets a hand on his shoulder before ari can reach for the handle.

“ari,” dante says, because it’s the only coherent thing bouncing around in his head right now.

ari swings around, pulling his shoulder out of dante’s grip as he does so. there’s a hard look on his face. “what’s your deal?” he demands. the intensity in his voice makes dante recoil a little, but he doesn’t back down.

“what’s  _ my _ deal?” there’s some intensity in dante’s voice, too. ari’s is infectious. “you were the one who just tried to completely avoid me.”

“i didn’t  _ avoid _ you—”

“yes, you did.”

ari throws up his hands in rigid exasperation. “hell, dante, i don’t know.” 

“don’t lie to me, ari.” his voice cracks against his will. “i can’t handle that right now.”

ari looks at dante, and it seems as if a battle is raging in his head. dante wonders which side ari hopes will win. finally, he says, “i just— it’s weird, alright? this is weird. hitting on a straight guy is always kinda—”

dante’s laugh is so loud and abrupt, he startles himself. “hold on, you think i’m straight?”

he blinks slowly. “i guess i just assumed—”

“i’m clearly doing something wrong, if you thought i was straight.”

ari closes his eyes and rubs his temples with his fingertips. the thought crosses dante’s mind that this is cute, but he makes himself put it aside. after a brief count, ari looks at him again. “i just didn’t think that you would want to talk to me again,” he says. 

the truth of it makes dante ache. it’s the sort of thing that requires a truth in return. 

dante doesn’t mean to say it. “i want to.” he shouldn’t be saying it, but he’s gotten himself going now, and he can’t stop. “i want so much more than to just talk to you.”

dante watches the subtle shift in ari’s expression, stiff clay becoming softer with a little work. he steps closer, and his hands come to rest on dante’s forearms. dante can’t feel the warmth he remembers so clearly through his denim jacket, only the weight of ari’s touch, but even that is enough to make his mind buzz. “what do you want, dante?” ari asks.

_ what do you want? _

it should be a simple question. and in a way, it is. “i want—”  _ everything. i don’t want to be held back anymore. i want to be free.  _ “i want  _ this, _ ” he ends up saying, “i want you to make  _ this _ easy for me.”

ari’s brows crease. “i don’t think your fiancée would be too happy about that,” he says, and the way he says  _ fiancée  _ is like it leaves a bad taste on his tongue.

dante can’t help but give a little huff of a laugh. “no, emma would be totally fine. we’re not… like that. we’re not a couple, i mean. there’s nothing there.”

”what’s that supposed to mean?”

dante isn’t quite sure how to explain it so that ari can understand. it’s not an easy question to answer. he settles on; “it’s complicated.”

“sounds like it.” ari crosses his arms. “if it’s not  _ like that _ , then why did it stop you last week?”

that’s an even less easy question to answer, for different reasons. for the fact that there are too many reasons.  _ because i still felt guilty, somehow. because you were so incredible, i couldn’t believe it. because i’ve never kissed a boy before. because i was scared.  _

_ because no matter what i do, i still feel stuck. _

dante shrugs, a small and helpless gesture. “i don’t want to talk about it. just… please.”

ari frowns, and for a single, terrible moment, dante thinks he might try to get more answers out of him anyway. instead, he simply says, “do you want to get out of here?”

dante nods silently.

ari’s hands are back on dante’s arms. “come on, then,” he says, gently leading dante out the back exit and around the bar.

dante’s skin feels alive and tingly, like one moment of skin-to-skin contact with ari might wreck him. he thinks that’s a wrecking he’d be okay with.

he doesn’t quite know what to expect. ari hasn’t said anything about where they might be going. dante can only assume they’re headed somewhere more  _ private _ , but ari’s never mentioned living in or near san junipero. there are so many questions dante has yet to ask ari, and the realization is a somewhat startling one. it exposes the newness of whatever this is that’s beginning to take root between them. it’s strange in the way that dante feels like he’s known ari his whole life, and yet he doesn’t really know a thing about him.

he means to start on these questions, but they turn into a parking lot off the side of the bar, and ari’s leading him to a pickup truck and digging around in his pockets for the keys. it’s a beautiful car. cherry red, chrome detailing, whitewall tires. 

“i used to have a car just like this one,” ari says, and dante can hear in his words how proud he is of it, like he salvaged it and built it back up again with his own two hands.

“it’s…”

ari must have caught on the nervous way dante trails off, because he’s frowning when he turns back to look at him. “you okay?” ari asks.

in all honesty, dante doesn’t know. he, perhaps foolishly, had never really associated san junipero with cars. at least, he had never been under the assumption that he would actually be  _ getting in one. _ “i’m fine,” he says, but he knows his voice is betraying him.

ari’s dark brows knit together, and dante can practically see his mind at work. “do you want to get in?” he asks. dante feels ari’s concern like a soothing hand on his back. it holds the knowledge that this is a delicate subject for dante, one that should be handled with care, and it’s amazing how easily he caught on to that.

dante hesitates, regarding the car. he considers refusing. it could be as easy as saying no and walking away, as simple as going off to explore like he had originally planned. like he always does on the few occasions he gets the chance.

but then he looks at ari again, and he knows that walking away isn’t the easy choice. it isn’t a choice at all, really. he can’t find it in himself to do it.

dante nods, and that’s all it takes. next thing he knows, he’s hopping into the passenger seat, and he and ari are on the road. 

half a mile goes by before the truck begins kicking up dust in its wake. they’ve left the cluster of buildings and paved roads behind for the open desert and unruly dirt paths. dante can hear ari exhale at the transition, and he loosens up the further they get from the noise and clutter of downtown san junipero. they’ve only been in the desert for a minute or so, but dante can already tell that it’s the natural place for a boy like ari.

dante, if anything, feels the opposite. his whole body is wracked with tension, and the change in environment does nothing to put him at ease like it does for ari. he is dimly aware that he’s clenching the handle of the door a bit too hard, but he can’t make himself let go. 

in an effort to distract himself, he turns his gaze to ari, studies the strong profile he cuts against the desert passing by outside his window. “how long have you been here?” dante asks.

“in san junipero?” ari thinks about it. when he really thinks about something, he gets a little divot in his chin. “i don’t know, three months? four? i don’t live here, though. it’s a temporary sort of thing, i guess.”

dante nods. “right. would you, though? live here?”

ari looks over at dante. “are you sure you’re okay? you seem kinda freaked out, there.”

“i’ll be fine, it’s just—” he doesn’t have time to say more, because ari is gazing at him and not paying attention to the road, and the car is flooded with sudden light, and it takes dante a moment to realize that this light is that of oncoming headlights. this is the only complete thought he manages to form before a panic, frantic and fracturing, overtakes him. all he can think is the sound of solid impact against metal, the sharp sting of shattered glass, and all the chaos and rapidity of a collision

but none of it is real. the next thing dante manages to register is their car, intact and sitting idle at the side of the road. there’s ari, beside him, and he’s laughing.  _ laughing _ . “holy shit,” he breathes. “damn, that was close. the look on your face— dante? are you hurt?”

dante can only imagine how pale he must look right now. he has a death grip on the dashboard with one hand, and the handle of the door with the other. he feels like he’s locked in rigor mortis, completely unable to move, and the thought is about to send him spiraling into a fresh bout of panic. the world is closing in around him, constricting, and he’s completely helpless—

“dante, hey, look at me.” ari’s speaking to him, and he’s about the only steady thing in this moment. dante clings to it. “look at me.”

dante slowly turns his gaze to meet ari’s.

“is it okay if i touch you?” ari asks. dante nods, and ari places his hands on either side of dante’s neck. he runs his thumbs along dante’s jaw, and it feels  _ so good. _ until now, he’d thought of ari’s touch as something that would wreck him. it did, when they touched last week, because it was one of the few things that dante had been able to think of since. but upon second examination, this can’t be wrecking. it has to be the opposite, because it makes him feel like his foundations are being rebuilt, stronger and surer. 

“you’re safe,” ari says. “you’re okay.”

dante believes him. he lets go of the dashboard and the handle, flexing his fingers to work out the dull ache. “i’m okay,” he repeats, softly.

ari sits back in his seat, removing his hands. dante wishes he would keep touching him, but the lingering warmth is enough to sustain him. “sorry,” ari says, “i should have been paying more attention. you’re just very distracting.”

when he shoots a smile at dante, he can’t help but return it. “it’s okay. i think i would have been distracted, too.”

“by me? or by yourself?”

dante laughs and gives ari’s shoulder a light shove. both are miracles for a multitude of reasons. that he can  _ laugh _ after something like that, that ari can  _ make  _ him laugh after something like that. that he can shove ari and have it be playful and casual, that he can be here to do it at all. “shut up.”

“are you good to keep going?”

this time, when dante nods, he really means it. “yeah, i’m good.”

ari grins and puts the car into drive. dante focuses on his hand on the gear shift for the rest of the drive. the ridges of his knuckles, the slight shifting of muscle beneath his skin. watching is enough to keep dante grounded for the next five minutes the car is in motion. the drive is also completed in silence. dante thinks ari must understand that he needs the space, and he’s grateful that he’s willing to give it to him.

when ari finally puts the truck in park, dante looks out the window to find a small, simple place waiting for them. from here, it doesn’t look much larger than an indulgent apartment, with a few windows that dante can see and a light brown door. it’s plain in coloring, a shade of white that would have been perfectly neutral if not for the slight battering it’s taken from its environment. one might call it too simple, especially after the bold and bright excellence of the downtown, but it’s the way that simplicity contrasts against the world around it that makes it stand out. the white is brilliant against the now-cooling desert sands. 

it reminds dante a little of himself, particularly the way ari described him last week. simple, but special because of it. more real because of it. something about this place sharing something in common with him makes dante inexplicably happy.

dante opens the door and gets out of the car. his feet rejoice at the chance to light once again on solid, unmoving ground. he closes the door, pats the top of the cab for no particular reason other than it just feels like he should, and looks up.

just a glance, and dante is enchanted. it’s the most brilliant sky he’s ever seen. streaks of purples and dark blues that seem deliberately placed, wide strokes of a purposeful brush. and there, against this wash of color, are stars. thousands of them, more than dante ever thought could exist in one space. they are vast and impossibly thick, and dante wonders how anyone could ever make out a single image from the sheer volume of it. or, if they somehow managed to do so, how they could ever find it again.

“it’s beautiful, huh?” ari is standing next to him, and he’s looking up at the sky too. 

“gorgeous,” dante agrees. “no light pollution.” 

“light pollution?”

“yeah. like when there’s too much light down here, and it drowns out the stars up there.”

“huh.” ari says it like he’s seeing things differently. “humans must be pretty shitty, then. to make something like this go unseen.”

dante laughs. “yeah.”

“there’s not much of that in san junipero. light pollution, i mean.”

“still. it never looked like this downtown.”

“yeah, well, the desert’s always been the best place for looking at the stars. san junipero or otherwise.” ari locks his truck, and the headlights flash briefly. “i’ve always wanted to live in the desert. and i mean  _ in _ the desert. like this. just me and the sky and the rain, whenever it pays a visit.”

“sounds like a pretty good life to me.”

ari shrugs, runs a hand through his hair, and looks at dante. “are you going to come in?” it’s more than an invitation inside. the question bears the weight of something significant, and it makes dante’s heart pound in his chest, almost like fear. like the anticipation that comes moments before letting yourself leap off a ledge, trusting that the ground will be there to catch you before leaping becomes crashing, burning. trusting that something will be there to break his fall and make it all easier. 

and he trusts ari. he trusts ari so much, it’s like breathing in until there’s no more room in his lungs.

“yes,” dante says, like there was any other choice he’d consider. he follows ari to the front door, where he fumbles slightly with the keys before unlocking it and letting them both in.

dante has always believed that someone’s living space says a lot about who they are as a person. just one look at where a person chooses to spend their time, and you know way more about them than you did before. and this space, dante thinks, has  _ ari _ written all over it _. _

it’s a simple, clean space with a small yet open floor plan. there are no walls closing off the small kitchenette or what might generously be called a bedroom, but was really just some open space with a bed and a small table on the right side. it offers a neutral color scheme: warm wooden floors, white walls, white and brown furniture. if it were a painting, one without a taste for minimalism might find it uninteresting. but dante has an eye for the neat angles, the clean colors, the simple layout. he can see traces of ari in all of it, and it’s this quality that makes the space, to him, anything but  _ uninteresting _ . 

the apartment really only has two things worth noting. one is the windows. dante hadn’t been able to see them from outside, but now he can see that toward the back of the house, near the minimal bedroom, are floor-to-ceiling windows peering out at the desert horizon, which still holds some faint tinge of purple from the disappearing sun. and above the bed, large panes of glass stretching from one wall to the other. skylights. dante thinks that a roof of stars is exactly ari’s style.

the other thing worth noting is a dresser in the corner. it’s a beautiful piece, dante would guess walnut, and it holds some of the only decoration the apartment has to speak of. they’re a bunch of old photographs, and as dante steps closer to look at them, he’s greeted by an array of people who all bear some sort of resemblance to ari. an older woman with the same dark curls, a pair of twins who have the same shade of brown skin, a man who’s a dead-ringer for ari, aged by maybe forty years. front and center, a young man with the exact same eyes.

“your family?” dante asks.

“yeah.” ari’s voice is a little hollow.

“they all look like you.” he runs his fingers along the silver frame of the young man’s picture. he’s smiling, and those eyes that are so much like ari’s are sparkling. “is this your brother?”

when ari doesn’t respond, dante turns, and he’s a lot closer than dante thought he would be. the temperature instantly seems to go up by at least ten degrees. dante swallows hard as ari, only a couple inches away, catches him in his gaze like an insect in amber. “are you going to kiss me, or are you going to waste time asking questions?” he murmurs.

dante, somehow, miraculously, doesn’t choke on his own words. he even manages a smile. “neither,” he says. “ _ you _ kiss  _ me. _ ”

that shine finally returns to ari’s eyes. the one that makes dante dizzy, as if he wasn’t dizzy enough already. as if he doesn’t become more so when ari takes him by the back of his neck. 

ari is short enough that he has to pull dante down a little to reach his mouth, which undoes dante in a way he could spend hours, days, years trying to articulate and still never capture. so instead, he just closes his eyes. 

when ari kisses him, the magnetic pull between them has achieved its goal, and it’s as if it would take something stronger than the will of the universe itself to pull them apart.

ari’s lips are too good to be true. their softness, their smoothness, their gentle pressure. the way they fit against dante’s so nicely. it’s everything dante has ever imagined kissing a boy could be. it’s nature’s design.

the kiss is chaste at first, a close-mouthed press of lips, and dante thinks it couldn’t possibly get any better. but then ari’s mouth opens under dante’s and he feels the exploratory swipe of his tongue and  _ oh. _ ari’s teeth scrape gently on dante’s lower lip and  _ okay.  _ decidedly better.

the force of everything he wants to do strikes him right then, and he doesn’t know where to begin. ari is an endless array of possibilities, and each one seems more wonderful than the last. dante decides on something he’s wanted to do since he first saw ari, and pushes his hands up into his hair. 

ari reacts like this simple touch brings all his walls thundering down. he shudders and his head leans back with dante’s touch, seemingly involuntary. it breaks the kiss, but dante doesn’t mind if it means he gets to watch ari experience unraveling like he is himself. it’s nice to know that ari is feeling it too, that dante isn’t alone. ari’s half-lidded eyes are somewhat glazed over in a post-kiss haze. he presses his body closer against dante’s, and every point that he and ari are touching seems explosive. dante can feel the tension singing in ari’s body, taught and ready to fire.

“you like that, don’t you?” dante murmurs the question into ari’s mouth, impossibly pleased by the idea.

ari answers by pulling dante closer and kissing him harder, which dante accepts happily. when his back hits the wall beside ari’s bed, it’s as if it happened a million miles away. the here and now is the way ari is working his jaw, gentle yet insistent, and how dante can feel ari’s pulse fluttering just below.

ari’s hands travel up dante’s torso, and they’re taking their time in reaching their destination. their slow advancement, the way it drags up the hem of dante’s t-shirt, makes him shiver. ari’s hands move up onto dante’s shoulders, beneath his denim jacket, and push away the heavy fabric. he tugs the jacket off with some difficulty and lets it fall to the floor in a heap.

when dante breaks the kiss, both are breathing like they’ve run a marathon. ari’s eyes open slowly to meet dante’s, and dante can’t get enough of the idea that ari had to keep them closed for a moment after they broke apart, like he needed the time to recover. dante can understand that, because this is  _ devastating. _

it’s a lovely expression he’s wearing, lips parted and swollen, and dante has an image of soft oil paints. a subdued rosy swathe across his cheeks, those eyes the focal point just like in real life. he attempts to commit it to memory so he might someday immortalize it on a canvas. 

dante thinks,  _ i will never forget the way he looks right now. _

“you have to show me,” he breathes, because this is all new territory to him. because he’s falling too fast and too surely to be scared but there’s still so much he doesn’t know.

but he has ari. ari, who nods and nudges his nose against dante’s. “of course.” ari, who kisses him  _ so _ gently. ari, whose hands feel like daydreams when he runs them over dante’s bare ribcage.

ari pushes him gently to the bed, only a foot away. the backs of dante’s knees hit the bed, and he sits, hands on ari’s waist. as ari leans in again, they fall together, and then dante’s on his back, and ari is above him, kissing him senseless. making him, unmaking him. killing every thought that tries to take purchase, making them bloom again. 

there is far too much of ari to explore in one night, in just a few hours. dante wants to know every part of him, to be able to navigate each inch with his eyes closed. his hands are frantic on ari’s body in an effort to learn him.

when dante opens his eyes, all he can see is ari above him; a work of art crafted by the most gifted impressionist in the universe, shrouded in shadow and outlined in the stars adorning the desert sky.   
  


* * *

 

dante is in ari’s bed, and ari is right there beside him, and the world is marvelous.

their hands lay loosely entwined between them as they stare up at the night sky through the skylights. palm against palm, fingers just barely laced, ari’s thumb running again and again over dante’s. they’ve been this way for about five minutes since they finished, and neither of them have made any effort to get redressed, or clean up, or speak at all. it seems a good use of time, and the silence is comfortable, even welcome. dante needs it to process the enormity of the night.

he shifts to lay on his stomach and turns his face to look at ari. he watches the steady rise and fall of ari’s chest, studies the expanse of warm brown skin. he’s a little in awe of how at peace ari seems, especially after the whirlwind that has been everything since the first meeting of lips. the idea of something so earth-shattering leading to such perfect stillness seems absurd to dante, and yet here they are.

ari lets his face fall to the side to look at dante, and his smile is as soft as the pale starlight pouring in from above. he reaches out and brushes his hand down the nape of dante’s neck. “what are you thinking about?”

“i’m thinking that i’d like to paint you right now,” dante says.

“so you’re an artist, hm?”

dante nods. “i already have an idea of what i’d do.” he runs his fingers along the side of ari’s face, delicately, like it’s a fragile and invaluable pane of stained glass. “it’d be monochrome. shades of blue. except for a little bit of silver leaf—” he taps the softly illuminated apex of ari’s cheekbone— “just here.”

“i’d like to see that,” ari says, his voice warm with pleasure.

dante trails his fingers down ari’s face and over his throat, coming to rest his palm on the center of his chest. he can feel his heartbeat, steady and strong. “maybe someday.”

ari doesn’t say anything in response. they lapse into silence again, which dante doesn’t mind. he traces little circles on ari’s chest.

“you told me to show you,” ari says after a little while. “so… was that your first?”

“yeah,” dante says, a smile stealing across his face.

ari raises his eyebrows at him in an expression that is a combination of disbelief and surprise. “like, in san junipero? or like… ever?”

“ever.”

“i’d call bullshit, but i don’t think that’s something you’d lie about.”

“why would you call bullshit?”

“well, for starters, you’re way too good-looking to have been a virgin for so long— stop laughing, it’s true!” ari’s cheeks are redder than they’ve been all night, which just makes dante laugh harder.

he tries to pull himself together, though it’s an uphill battle. “sorry, sorry.”

“you’re not sorry.”

“no, not really.” he grins at ari, who’s pouting in retaliation. “keep going.”

ari huffs, but he does as dante says. “i’d also call bullshit because, y’know, it was actually  _ good. _ ”

“oh, was it?” he pokes ari’s flushed cheeks, his own beginning to ache from delight.

“i’m going to stop talking now.”

“no, don’t. i’m liking this too much.” 

ari swats dante’s hand away from his face. “that’s the issue here, you’re having too much fun.” he scrubs his fingers through his hair, and when he pulls it away, he looks even more disheveled. dante runs his own hand over ari’s mess of curls, twisting a couple strands between thumb and index. “i find it hard to believe,” ari says, “that’s all.”

“believe it.” dante shifts closer, and ari slips an arm under him and around his waist. “i guess you’ve deflowered me,” he says, fighting to keep a straight face.

he looks up in time to see ari screw up his nose. “ew, deflowered you?”

dante just laughs and rests his head on ari’s chest, his ear pressed up against the spot where ari’s heart beats in its sheath of muscle and skin. it’s an incredibly soothing sound.

“i guess you wouldn’t have done it with your not-fiancee, huh?”

the absolute antithesis of subtle. but then again, dante was hardly one to criticise.

“can we not talk about that?” he says it softly. he doesn’t want the words to come out so sharp that they cut the conversation too short. 

ari yields easily, with only a simple shrug and words spoken against the top of dante’s head. “okay. it was worth a shot.”

dante, gently disentangling himself from ari’s arms, props himself up on his elbows so he can look at ari directly. “when did you know? that you liked kissing boys?”

ari doesn’t seem to think the question abrupt or strange, which dante appreciates. “i was eighteen, i think. ‘88? maybe ‘89.”

“how did you figure it out?”

ari shrugs. “i don’t really remember. i tried kissing girls and it just didn’t feel right, i guess.”

“that’s it?”

“what else do you want me to say, dante?”

“there has to have been one special guy who made you realize.”

“not for me,” ari says. “i’ve never had a serious relationship.”

this surprises dante. for the same reasons that ari was surprised at his virginity, he supposes. because he really is  _ damn _ good looking, and he’s just  _ good. _ dante has trouble believing that nobody before him had survived meeting ari without falling  _ hard. _ “really? never?”

“nope.”

“then how’d you realize it if you never met anyone special?”

“i got curious. i figured that if kissing girls wasn’t working for me, then maybe kissing guys was worth a try. went to a couple seedy bars.” he laughs softly, but it’s not humorous. it’s a hollow thing, the sound of bitterness without the bite. “which i now regret.”

“why?”

“it’s not the best way to meet guys that’ll actually care about you. not with the places i went to, at least. but it’s not like i knew any better.” ari’s staring up at the stars again, and by the look on his face, he might be trying to find an image he’d had once, a long time ago. “and it wasn’t the best way to come to terms with it all. with being gay, i mean. i had the hardest time accepting it. that that was the sort of thing i had to use to figure myself out. i didn’t feel good about talking about it with my family, so i just never told them.”

dante glances over at the dresser decorated with pictures. “i guess it’s too late now?”

ari sighs softly. “yeah. too late.”

“so you never fell in love?” dante asks.

ari shakes his head. “no.”

“that’s sad.” it seems like such a horribly small thing to say.

he shrugs. “i think i’m okay with it, though. if i ever did, i would have wanted my family to know. but they’re not here now, and i can never let them know, about love or being gay or otherwise. so i’m just here to have a good time.” he finally looks at dante, and he musters a smile. “how about you, then? must have been a  _ special guy _ for you. someone you liked. even if you were a virgin up until tonight.” the fact amuses him, somehow.

dante hesitates, then shakes his head. “no, not really.”

“i thought you said—”

“it’s like… i just always knew. i didn’t really need to  _ figure myself out _ , because i already knew myself. but i never really had the chance for there to  _ be _ a special guy.”

“homophobic folks?”

“not exactly.”

“you say a lot of things that i don't understand, dante.”

“maybe it’s better that way.” 

ari doesn’t seem convinced. “i don’t know about that. i like understanding things.”

dante snorts softly. “don’t we all.” he glances at the clock on the bedside table. 11:58. 

ari looks as well. “almost midnight,” he says.

“how about we just lay here?” dante asks. “no more talking.”

ari’s eyes return to dante, and his gaze is as it was the night they met. regarding. again, dante gets the feeling that he might try to ask more. that he wants to ask more. and for a moment, dante wants him to. but he also hopes he doesn’t, because the answers to any questions that ari might want to ask are bound to be complicated. all ari ends up saying is; “i can live with that.”

dante settles in the warm loop of ari’s arms and just looks at him. in this moment, ari is the most beautiful boy in the universe, and dante thinks that being with him is one of the most perfectly normal things he’s experienced in a long time. the past few hours have been thrilling, in every sense of the word, but at the end of the day, things are exactly how they’re supposed to be. dante feels like he holds the power to make these last few minutes stretch on forever, with ari here beside him. and he would do it. 

but time, as it is wont to do, passes.

the clock strikes midnight.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading, friends!


End file.
